You're Music to Me
by WizardofBio
Summary: Jean is forced by his stupid mother to go to the stupid high school to go to a stupid dance. But what if there is a reason- a person- that will keep him there all night. Implies other pairings. Reincarnation AU.


"What did I tell you about that attitude of yours, Jean?"

"I know, Mom, it's not polite, it's not going to make people like me, yadda yadda. They all already hate me, anyway."

"THey hate you because of your attitude! Now straighten that tie, Jean. You're not going to represent the Kirschstein family like **that**."

Jean sighed, fixing the red tie his mother had practically strangled him with in order to get him to look nice. "I'm not going just to represent Dad. I'm going because you said if I didn't, you'd take away my Xbox," he huffed, rolling his eyes.

"Regardless, your father would be ashamed to see his only son looking like one of those scholarship children," Mrs. Kirschstein hissed, looking in her compact mirror to fix her bright pink lipstick for the fifth time since they got in the car. She glared at him with hardened, cold steel blue eyes, as if he were the scum of the earth, not her son.

"Yeah, those awful people who worked hard to get in the school, those **awful** people," Jean grumbled, crossing his arms over the black suit jacket that had been fitted especially for him.

She was always like this. It was well-known, at least in the Kirschstein family, that Jessica Marie Bonnefey-Kirschstein hated Jean only slightly less than scholarship students. 'They're wasting the school's money,' she would say, 'They're why my son's failing.'

'No, I'm failing because, maybe, if I failed out of Trost, I might get to go to a public school or cyber school where no one knew who I was. Maybe I wouldn't get harassed so much for being the son of the school's main benefactor.'

Jessica shook her head, her blond and brown streaked hair falling in waves down to the middle of her back, where her black pencil skirt met the not-so-modest white top she only was she the wife of the biggest name in the North American sector of oil companies, but also the daughter of the biggest name in European fashion. So, of course, Jean was the proud jewel of the family; well, he would be if he was anything at all like his awful parents.

"Now, remember, your father's big customer's daughter, Carmen or something, is going to be there, and if you want to keep your flatscreen TV, you will make a good impression. If her father hears that the only son of Gerard Kirschstein is a worthless loser, your father will lose their company's business. We don't want that, do we?"

"Of course not, mother."

"Good. And sit up, for God's sake, your posture is horrid."

"It's not the only thing in this car that's horrid," Jean muttered, sitting up reluctantly.

"Bernard, next left- Jean, if you mess this up, I swear I will make sure that you are miserable for the rest of your high school career."

"Oh, so it was supposed to get better from here on out?"

"Jean, do not make me raise my hand against you."

Jean flinched slightly, remembering the constant beatings he used to get when his mother was still single.

_YOU are the reason Tristan left me. YOU are the reason I'm alone, you bastard! You stupid, little child!_

"Good boy. See, if you behaved this well all of the time, you wouldn't have to get hurt, darling," she cooed, her voice dripping with spoiled, sickeningly sweet, honey.

"Ma'am, we're here. Trost Private School for the Gifted."

"Ah, yes, Bernard. Jean, get out, find Carla, and be a gentleman. Your father's job is in the balance here, got it?"

"Yeah, mom. Bye."

"**Yes,** Jean, not yeah. And it is Mrs. Bonnefey-Kirschstein to you, you nitwit," she growled, glaring at him as she inspected her lavender eye shadow.

Jean sighed, shutting the car door and shoving his hands in his pockets. He could feel the tiny, blue ticket to the dance in his pocket, and wondered if he could pretend to have lost it in order to get out of there.

'No, Mom would bribe the goons at the entrance with money, or worse.'

Jean shook his head and approached the front doors of the school ballroom, where a small group of students sat at a table with a stack of papers and a smaller stack of blue and purple tickets.

"Hitch, stop being childish!"

"Sure, Mr. Noble, as soon as **you** stop preaching about your future."

Jean stopped in front of them and cleared his throat, holding the ticket out to a blond guy about his age.

"Sorry, Mr. Kirschstein. Thank you, and have a wonderful night," the blond said, bowing his head.

"Yeah, thanks."

Jean entered through the cheesy curtain of blue, purple, and white streamers. The theme for the year was A Wonderous Winter Wonderland.

The dance committee obviously did not understand how redundant that was.

Jean exhaled, trying to remember how his father had described this girl he was supposed to butter up.

_"She's the daughter of Wesley Reiss and Lucinda Lenz, the co-owners of the biggest gas company on the west coast. Now, they got divorced and they both call their daughter different names, just because they have some sick game of arguing with each other over it. Her mom uses her maiden name and a different first name, her dad just his surname. Call her Historia Reiss, but know that everyone else will call her Christa Lenz. Showing her that you know her real name will reveal that you are my son, and that she should like you. She's tiny, maybe five feet if you really stretched it, and blond. Just look for a tiny girl; odds are she's the only one **that** small."_

Jean remembered the secretary's face as she read his father's words off of her little notepad. That look of why-can't-this-rich-asshole-talk-to-his-own-son seemed to be ever-present when Jean spoke to her.

Now, how would finding the shortest girl there be easy? He could easily find the tall guy, Bertholdt, standing at the side of the room, and could see the principal, Dr. Smith, standing at the back of the room, surrounded by a little group of weird-ass teachers.

But a short, blond girl?

Jean groaned and decided to get something to drink. If he was going to last all night, he was going to need to drink, even if it was just the weak fruit punch that one or two of the other juniors always laced with liquor.

Jean almost smirked as he saw a little bald guy duck under the drink table, a glass bottle in hand, as he saw Jean coming.

"Yo, Charlie, it's fine. I'm bot reporting you. If anything, I should thank you. There's no way I'm getting through this night sober."

The guy slid out from under the table, popping up and grinning at Jean. "Sorry, Gene, you know how well Mr. Z can smell booze, even if it's this weak shit. And it's Connie," he said, shoving the bottle in a pocket under his coat.

"It's _Jean_, for the hundredth time," Jean muttered, pouring a glass for himself.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. It ain't John either, right?"

Jean only glared at him in response, then quickly turned and scanned the crowd again for this Historia girl.

"You looking for someone?" Connie asked, "Maybe a girly-friend?"

"Like you know anything about girls. And yes, actually. But only for my dad."

"Whoa, dude, I know your dad marries young, but c'mon."

"I meant that her dad's some important business guy. Get your mind out of the gutter."

"Jean, my mind **is** the gutter. Who's the lucky lady?"

"His- Christa Lenz," Jean said, remembering that he was probably the only one here to know her real name.

"Oh, that little thing? Hm.. I saw her around with stupid Ymir and that scholarship kid, Martin or something. Yo, Sasha, where's Christa?" Connie said, calling over his shoulder.

A girl jumped out from behind the food table, her mouth covered in various frostings.

"Over there, see, next to that lovely display of chocolate pretzels," Sasha said, grinning.

"Sasha, where the fuck did you get cake?"

"I know people, Connie."

"Yeah, and I know everyone you know. Now gimme some," Connie growled.

Sasha stuck her tongue out and then proceeded to shove the rest of the cake in her mouth. "You gonna take it from me now?"

"Hell yeah I am!" Connie smirked, proceeding to stick his tongue down her throat in order to taste the cake.

"Okay, nice seeing you two, gottagobye," Jean said hurriedly, determined to get away from the overzealous couple before they decided to move on to other foods.

Jean could see the small group of people near the pretzel display. There were two girls and a guy, plus that Bertholdt kid and his two friends that never seemed to be anywhere else but next to him.

Historia was standing next to a tall, freckled girl, who had her arm around her shoulders and was smirking at her while talking. Historia had a powder blue dress on, making her blue eyes stand out even more. Her hair was braided in a halo on the top of her head, making her look like a little angel. Jean only hoped that her personality reflected her appearance.

The tall girl had brown hair tied back in a ponytail, and wore a baggy, slightly dirty suit. Her black tie hung untied around her neck, further showing the slacker look she was portraying.

The boy that stood a few feet away from them was, in a word, couldn't describe him. He had dark brown, almost black hair that was parted down the middle, two small curls at the top of his head. he had tanned skin and a face full of dark brown freckles, like little clouds of dirt on his face. He had dark brown eyes that met Jean's gaze in an instant, stopping Jean's motion and heart in one quick second.

_Holy ever loving fuck that boy is beautiful. And holy shit he is looking right at me, shitshitshit._

Jean blinked quickly, curling his hands into balls and continuing to approach the group.

_Just don't look at him. Not one peek- okay, maybe one._

Jean saw that he wore a long-sleeved white shirt under a navy blue sweater vest. His black pants were slightly loose on his long, long legs.

_Okay no more peeks._

Jean had come to realize that maybe, just maybe, he found guys attractive. It was after a particularly long stay at an all-boys school when he suddenly saw a beautiful, dark-tall-handsome guy at the front of the school and thought, in these exact words, _'What I'd give to bite that tight little ass'_

Of course, he had been freaked out at first, but he decided it was fine. If his mom could like old, rich guys, he could like young, attractive guys.

But this guy, Marcus or whatever Sasha had said, he was gorgeous. And not in the normal hot guy way, in the entrancing, almost hypnotic beauty of dark brown eyes, dark brown hair, dark, long eyelashes, long, long legs.

Jean tried to clear his head. _I'm here to kiss up to this chick, not to fantasize over some guy, no matter how well that shirt clings to his chest._

Jean stopped in front of Historia and gave her his best son-of-a-businessman smile. "Good evening Miss Reiss, is it?"

Historia's eyes widened, and the tall girl, Emma or whatever, froze in place.

"It's Christa," the tall girl said.

"Oh, I apologize," Jean said, remembering years of etiquette lessons, "I seem to remember my father telling me that your name was Historia Reiss. And such a beautiful name, for such a beautiful girl."

Jean was about to gag.

"Oh, you must be Jean, right? My mother told me about you. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kirschstein," Historia smiled, curtsying cutely.

"The pleasure's all mine," Jean said, bowing slightly.

_I'd better get to keep my Xbox for this._

"Yo, fruitcake, cut out the crap. Whaddya want from Christa?" the taller girl hissed.

"Ymir, don't be rude-"

"I actually just wanted to ask her to dance, if she doesn't mind," Jean said, grinning.

Ymir raised an eyebrow, the arm she had around Christa tensing slightly,

"Don't worry, Ymir. Sure, Jean, I'd love to dance," Historia mumbled, holding her hand out.

"Keep your hands in a neutral zone, Johnny boy, or I'll castrate you," Ymir growled, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Ymir!" Historia hissed frantically as Jean led her onto the dance floor.

"Is your friend always this protective?" Jean asked, resting his other hand on her waist.

"Yes, I'm sorry. Ymir can be quite rude at times," Historia said, putting her hand on his shoulder, although her fingers barely reached, "So, Jean, why did you want to dance?"

Jean raised his eyebrows at the sudden change in her tone. The innocent charm in her voice was gone, replaced by a monotonous drawl.

"Oh, was my act not good enough?" Jean teased.

"No, you were fine while talking to me. It's just that you were looking at my friend Marco like he was the second coming of Jesus," Historia smirked.

"Freckled Jesus, how interesting. But, yes, you caught me, my intentions are not exactly as you may have expected."

"Let me guess, Mr. Kirschstein thinks that you need to butter me up in order to get to my father?"

"Possibly."

"Well, Jean, I must say, so far, you are not looking too good. Lying? Tut-tut," Historia teased, winking at him.

"Really? Because my mom will **kill** me if she finds out that you don't like me," Jean said, panic rising in his chest.

"I never said I didn't like you. It's just that you are the third person since I got here to ask for a dance and then reveal your true intentions," Historia sighed, closing her eyes.

"Oh, um, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"It's alright, I'm going to guess that you'll be getting plenty of dances from some of the daughters of businessmen as well. And I'm guessing, like me, those girls aren't gonna stand a chance, right?" Historia remarked, opening one eye.

"Like you? Oh... **Oh**," Jean said, causing Historia to giggle.

"Oh, Jean, you don't think that I, the daughter of a businessman, would let just any person hang off of me?" Historia said, smiling.

"Well, um, yeah, okay. So, ignoring the fact that I'm an idiot, what do you think you'll be telling your father?"

"Hmm, tough choice, Jean. The first guy offered me a diamond ring, you know?"

"Well, shit, I could buy you a diamond ring for each finger if you really wanted that," he sneered.

"Jean, did you come here with someone?" Historia asked suddenly.

"No, why?"

"Just wondering- oh, the music stopped, I must go back to Ymir. Maybe you can come and meet Marco?" Historia said, the innocent tone returning.

"Of course, Miss Reiss," Jean said, holding his arm out for her. He led her back to where Ymir was, fuming in a cloud of rage.

"It was so nice to dance with you, Jean," Historia said, smiling.

"Once again, the pleasure is all mine," Jean replied, winking.

"Marco, do you Jean?" Historia asked, tugging on Marco's sleeve.

"Hm? Oh... no, I haven't. Hi, Jean, I'm Marco Bodt," Marco said, his voice like calm ocean waves to Jean's ears. The easy, smooth way that Marco said his name sent chills up Jean's spine. The slight curve of his lips as he spoke, Jean, Jean, Jean.

"Hello, Marco. I'm Jean Kirschstein."

Marco seemed to be staring into Jean, his dark eyes were looking at him with such intensity.

"Ymir, can we go get some water, I'm feeling a little hot," Historia asked, glancing at Jean from the corner of her eye.

"Sure, Christa. See you two goons later," Ymir sneered, wrapping her arm around Christa and leading her away.

"Is she always this rude?" Jean sighed, moving to stand next to Marco.

"Yeah, but she means well," Marco said, smiling.

"Did you come here with her, er, them?"

"Well, I came as Ymir's 'date', and Bertholdt over there is actually supposed to be Christa's date. But if you hadn't noticed, Ymir and Christa aren't interested in either of us," Marco smiled, looking at Jean.

_Shit. No he can't be gorgeous AND nice. Fuck, he's gorgeous._

"Christa and Bert? I don't think they can even look each other in the eye," Jean joked.

"Yeah, but Reiner scared Christa, so Reiner's here with Annie, even though she's supposedly here to be with Armin, who's over there with Eren and Mikasa, who are the only two of our whole mixed-up group who showed up with the person they wanted to."

"Wait, you mean you're all in a big group?"

"Not technically, since Christa's dad would have a fit if he knew she was not only hanging out with scholarship kids, but secretly dating one of them. That's why Bert's her date, his dad does something with construction, so he's better than Ymir's mom, who sits at home all day and drinks," Marco sighed.

"You know a lot about your friends, don't you?" Jean remarked.

:"I guess. I just like being able to help them," Marco shrugged.

_Of course he's fucking perfect, of fucking course._

"Wanna go sit down somewhere?" Jean blurted out.

Marco looked at him and Jean could've sworn he saw a faint blush dust over his cheeks. "Oh, sure."

Jean nodded and absentmindedly took Marco's hand as he led him to the tables.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine, I don't mind," Marco said, squeezing his hand.

Jean felt his face turn red, and could've sworn the blood under his cheeks was boiling. He sat down at a little blue two-person table, loosening his grip on Marco's hand.

Marco let go and and sat down across from him, a small smile on his face. The little fake candle in the center of the table glowed a deep yellow, casting faint shadows on the contours of Marcos' perfect face.

"You look good," Jean blurted, looking down at the tablecloth.

Marco chuckled and said, "You look good, too, Jean."

There it was again, his name. Marco's voice seemed to perfectly pronounce it, even better than Jean himself could. Marco's voice echoed in his mind, Jean, Jean, Jean.

It was music to his ears.

Jean stared at the table for a while, relishing in being this close to such a perfect person.

"Jean, do you want to go dance? This is the Formal Dance, after all," Marco said, smiling.

"Oh, um, sure, yeah. Let's dance. Unless you meant with other people, um, girls," Jean stammered.

"No, I think I'll dance with you, Just don't step on my toes, okay?" Marco winked.

_Fuck fuckitty fuck fuck. He is perfectly perfect in every way._

Marco stood and held his hand out to Jean. Jean noticed a small spatter of freckled on the top of his hand, and wondered just how many places Marco had freckled on.

_Hey, dumbass, don't even start thinking about where he could have freckles. These pants are too tight for that shit._

Jean took his hand and Marco pulled him to the dance floor, quietly chuckling at the nervous expression on Jean's face.

"Come on, Jean, they're going to finish the song before we get there," Marco teased.

Once Marco had led him to the center of the mob of people, Jean noticed that the DJ suddenly changed the song, a slower tune coming through the speakers.

Marco rested a hand on Jean's shoulder, causing Jean to blush even more.

"I'm not a girl, Marco," Jean whispered, looking down at the floor.

"I didn't mean to say that you were a girl, despite how beautiful you look tonight. I simply meant to say that I was leading," Marco said smoothly.

"Um, what?" Jean stuttered, looking up into Marco's eyes, his chocolate brown eyes.

"I said that you were beautiful, and that I was leading. But if you really don't want me to lead, we don't have to dance like this," Marco said as calmly as he had before.

"You're beautiful. Like, really beautiful," Jean blurted, wanting to crawl into a hole and die there.

"Really?" Marco asked, his voice quiet.

"Yeah, of course, I mean,when I saw you, I couldn't stop staring," Jean muttered.

"I thought I just had something on my face," Marco smiled, slowly looping his arms around Jean's waist,

"What? No, you're crazy handsome, I mean, not crazy, um," Jean said nervously, too confused to notice how close he was getting to Marco.

"Thank you, Jean," Marco sighed, resting his chin on Jean's shoulder.

Jean turned his face in to face Marco's throat and said, "No problem, Marco."

"You know, I haven't heard this song in forever," Marco muttered, swaying side to side.

Jean, having wrapped his arms around Marco, swayed with him, and replied only with a small, confused noise.

"Yeah, it's a good song. When it first came out, I couldn't get it out of my head. The lyrics, the deep piano chords, it's so beautiful, and so sad, too."

Jean nodded, sighing happily.

"_Never mind, I'll find, someone like you... I wish nothing but the best, for you two... Don't forget me, I beg, I remember you saying, sometime sit lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead..._" Marco sang into Jean's ear, his voice echoing through Jean's mind once again. It sounded so familiar, the deep, rumble in his chest as he sang, the sad tone to his normally calm tone.

"Marco, you're really good at singing," Jean whispered.

"Thank you, Jean. Maybe if we see each other again, I can sing something else than Adele," Marco said, smirking.

"Again?"

"Well, yeah, I mean, we are going to see each other again, right?"

Jean looked up at him, and for the first time in a long time, felt excited to go to school on Monday.

"Of course, Marco. I'll definitely see you again," Jean murmured, feeling a comfortable silence settle in between the two of them.

"Jean, I don't mean to sound weird, but it feels like I've met you before."

"Really? I could've sworn that I have heard you sing before," Jean gasped quietly, looking up at him.

"Jean, do you believe in soulmates?"

Jean contemplated it for a moment.

After listening to the soothing music of Marco's voice, he definitely believed in soulmates.

Jean told Marco this, and Marco nodded slowly.

"Jean, could I- Would you be okay if I kissed you?" Marco whispered, "It just feels right."

Jean felt his heart stop. he had heard those words before, the same words in the same voice from the same person. It sounded so unbelievably familiar, like he had been hearing those words over and over since the beginning of time.

Jean slowly reached up to wrap his arms around Marco's neck. "Yeah, Marco, you can kiss me."

Marco smiled slightly before leaning down slightly, accidentally bumping their noses against each other as he did so. For a moment, they stood there, a centimeter apart. Marco's beautiful, long eyelashes brushed against Jean's cheek, For that moment, Jean's eyes stared deep into Marco's for what seemed like the millionth time.

For that moment, the only music Jean heard was Marco's soft, steady breathing against his own lips.

Marco tilted his head ever so slightly to press his lips gently to Jean's. Jean could feel his entire body overflow with electricity, and gently pressed back against Marco's lips.

If Jean could have stayed in that moment forever, feeling Marco's lips press against his own, hearing the music of Marco's heartbeat beating with his own, he would have.

But, like every other time, the music stopped, if only a few short seconds later than the last time.

And, like last time, the last thing Jean saw was Marco, every Marco he had come to know, flash before his eyes.

Last time this happened, the people around Marco and Jean thought Marco had poisoned him, and they ended up killing him, too.

This time, the paramedics described it as sudden cardiac arrest, possibly from Jean's heart beating too fast.

It was so different from the last time, but, like last time, Jean would have to wait another long time to find Marco again.

And maybe next time would be the last time they would have to meet.

* * *

**A/N:**

I'M SORRY.

Prompt: Day 6 of JeanMarco Week-Music


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